


Aura Popularis

by cassiejamie



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-09
Updated: 2008-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiejamie/pseuds/cassiejamie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stomps aways while she floats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aura Popularis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itinerant_vae](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=itinerant_vae).



_A calcem_

  
Three months since they'd had a job; bitter words exchanged over too much boredom and too much drink and there's broken glass in their wake. Somehow they avoid bloodshed but their emotional hits had been aimed straight and true, cutting into their hearts.

"Little Simon's like the butterflies – beautiful and scared," she singsongs at him later, her arm in her lap while he draws more blood from a fragile, overworked vein. She wrinkles her nose after a second and murmurs, "Change is as good as a rest, sloughing off the past."

He nods out of habit, not listening in the least to (the girl's? the woman's? the creature's?) her words. She flutters from the room when he turns away; sliding, slipping, _dancing_ down the corridors.

Twirling past the Captain's quarters, there's a crash and a thud and she bends s l o w l y, folding at an angle like the math Simon would show her (and she'd correct). Delicate flesh shell, noises reach her thick and she whistles the tune along with the man.

"It's a mite late for you to be wandering alone, ain't it lil' albatross?" he says too loudly, hatch wide like a mouth at the dentist. She sees the cavities below, the piles of fabric skin with the volley of sinner's thoughts that are shrouded sheer under liquor linen.

"Dulls our minds and wipes at our pain but it lingers." Her voice is hard, knowing, fading into the footsteps, footfalls. Left then right, left then right, measured: even like Simon tries to be. (He fails but she lets him live with that delusion – it's better for him. Them.)

The lilt of the street, English now more broken than proper and Chinese laced in to fill the gaps. "I'd much appreciate it if you'd keep a handle on the girl here. We don't want another repeat of... near every incident since you bartered station on this boat."

"Words are venom, a snakebite – two little holes, tapered and wide – and venom wastes."

"Mind translatin' for the miss, there, doc?"

Simon growls (predatory-protective) and he wraps long fingers, tightens them around a slim and slender wrist. Stomps aways while she floats, three words weighing on their minds collective.

 

_Ad capite_

  
Sleeping awake in the morning hours (daylight lost in the void of space) and she hears Zoe ask, "Anyone know what's got the cap and the doc in a right huff? Just about lost my head earlier askin' when we'd reach the outer rim."

The juice of the plum is sweet in her mouth the way Kaylee's fooled innocence sweetens the worst of discussions-conversations-arguments-fights.

"Apparently Cap walked in on Jayne gettin' hisself stitched in the happy place other day and got all addlepated 'bout it." She shrugs (Jayne complains that his manparts aren't a topic for _the insane girl's ears_) and bites her fruit again, her lips smacking like a metronome of chewing cadence.

Zoe's eyes roll a perfect circle around in their sockets, lamenting her men in a single quiet gesture and Inara curses them both flatly. "Stubborn _shǎ bī_ men." She finishes her meal, pushing away the plate and her elegant dress flits behind her, dragonfly's wings in red silk.

"You know, Jayne, you never did explain how it was you came by such a strange injury in your bunk," Zoe demands in a overtly subtle way, her voice reverberating in the tiny room.

She leaves them all behind, feet lagging and mind steeping like a fine tea (thoughts becoming coherent and fluid, normal) and she drifts listlessly from room to room. Searching for something, the strings further and further from her grasp and she struggles to understand what she so desperately wants to forget.

It is mocking and she reaches out for it, finding herself falling forward into her brother's most treasured lair and her heart chills, hardens, curls in on itself. She backtracks without hesitation, seeking out the safety of the people she (mentally) calls family.

Kaylee laughs. "There you is, River. Been lookin for you!"

They start tag, or is it hide and seek? Either way, she eats with her mouth each time she passes through the galley and her ears pick up the strain of speech. Stops her laughing flight at the door, mind pricked up and listening for what no one was sure she could hear.

Anger. Hate. Betrayal. _Love. Lust. Longing._

"Happy ells," she lisps against the metal and fiber. Her barefeet feel the ground, grow cold and she forges ahead even as she comes down (not normal, but close enough). She fights for her senses the way the men in the room begin to fight in earnest, spit and sweat and someone says something about someone else. ("I did not!" Simon is indignant, trying to cast off the overwhelming itch behind his eyes.)

Bangs and then she's looking at Reynolds, Malcolm – Browncoat, ID 140921.

"Well, evening there, River. Thought I heard you and Kaylee run 'bout," he says with a sad little smile.

"Running and playing and laughing." Her skirt rustles, hips swinging and swaying in a gentle beat. "Laughing," she emphasizes.

"I'd be a mite more inclined to laugh if things 'round this boat were more profitable." He rests his back on the closed door; she knew he could feel sadness (where was it beneath the wrath?) and she reached out to touch his cheek with a finger, tracing down to chin.

She tells him, "Your bedevilment is torment with words like swords, not smiths, and you hurt with your witticisms where you never see. Never think. Never remember two worlds in one, spinning opposite and together."

Popping open, Simon sighs softly (like feathers disturbed by a breath) and only calls her name, watches her hie down the hallway at a brisk pace. She pretends to not notice the way they look at each other, the way they separate and trudge away without speaking.

The stomp of her foot filtered down the corridors, an echo of finality in an uncertain universe.

 

_A fortiori_

  
"Look, I ain't too good at this..."

"I hadn't noticed, Captain."

"I just want'a apologize if I did something that was a mite offensive."

Clank of metal on the counter, controlled breaths. "It's been four months, Mal."

"Got a hard head, Doc. Takes me a while sometimes, but you're good at that time fei-oo." Sparkling, hopeful eyes catch, maybe a little fear in both.

One corner of pink lips curve, a hint of a smile. "Am I?"

"Sure as Jayne's blushin' when you mention his manparts."

A snort to try to hold back the laughter, failing and chuckling then and awkwardness easing. A happy sigh, a single gentle kiss. Another follows and another; shoes squeak nearing the door.

Stopping and a final question: "Do you think the crew will ever stop teasing Jayne about his injury?"

A final answer: "Mayhap when Hell freezes. 'sides, I think that sis of yours enjoys makin' him blush."


End file.
